Sit Mortuus
by nessa-melwasul
Summary: It had been a week. A long, miserable, stinking week since... well, you didn’t like to think about it, did you?


"Sit Mortuus."  
  
A/N: Just got finished reading OotP earlier today. I always cry every single time I read the part where Sirius dies... So, obviously, you can tell what this is going to be about. The title, in Latin, as always, is literally, "He is dead." It's in second person, as you can see, and I think I'm going to be mean and not tell you, the reader who "you" really is. Although, it really ought to be quite apparent by the fifth little paragraph. Review, flame, I really don't care either way.  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
It had been a week. A long, miserable, stinking week since... well, you didn't like to think about it, did you? Sure, it was the only thing on your mind, but, in the last week, you'd managed to not think about it. You thought around it and near it a lot, but never about it. It hurt too much.  
  
For the entire week, you hadn't eaten. True, you'd never been a pig when it came to food, but you had always managed to slip in at least one meal a day, and you had been fine. But, every time in the past week someone'd offered you food, you stomach backflipped. It nauseated you to think that you could eat, while... No, you couldn't think about that. So as not to excite Molly, who hovered over you like a mother hen, always telling you how sorry she was, you blamed it on the fact that you was feeling a bit peaked, perhaps it had something to do with the moon, could you just have a nice strong cup of coffee instead? And, of course, being the mother she was, she gave it to you, accompanied with a worried look, which you shrugged off.  
  
It had been a week, but it had seemed like an eternity.  
  
You were sitting in an Order meeting, as usual, in the large basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Normally, you would've been sitting attentively, listening to everything said, contributing your opinion when you were perfectly sure of all facts, and all those seated around you would've murmured and nodded their agreement with his clever schemes. Tonight, however, was not a normal night, and so, while the meeting was nothing out of the ordinary, you were not paying attention at all. You sat in some sort of a trance, facing the empty chair. It had been left empty by the other members for the whole entire week, out of respect, and he had been sitting opposite of it, staring at the place where... No, you wouldn't go there, not just now. Sometimes you wondered who they were trying to respect by leaving that chair empty, yourself or... Nope, couldn't go there, either.  
  
You didn't even realize the meeting was over until Snape, of all people, gently tapped you on the shoulder as he left the kitchen. "Lupin," he said quietly, receiving no answer from you. "Lupin," the hook-nosed wizard said again; this time it was louder and sharper. You jumped, raising your eyes up to meet his. "Yes, Severus?" you asked, trying to retain a bit of your old cheerfulness, and doing a horrible job at it. The result was a hollow sort of sound in your voice that filled the kitchen, reverberating off the cold stone walls. Your companion sneered a bit, but it was rather kind, if a sneer can be kind. "Get yourself back on your feet," he quietly said, clapping you on the shoulder and walking away, leaving you standing in the kitchen with a look of half-comprehension on your face.  
  
You just sighed, wandering upstairs to get out of his robes. Lately you'd been feeling slightly suffocated every time he put your robes on. You pulled on a pair of Muggle jeans and a black t-shirt, which had the Gryffindor lion embroidered onto it. The shirt had been... no, you couldn't think about that. It had a very comforting smell about it, a familiar mixture of pine trees and soap and hippogriff and dog and broomstick grease and old parchment. That smell could only belong to... dammit, you weren't going there.  
  
You went back down to the kitchen, only to find Fred, George, and Ron Weasley sitting at the table, sipping butterbeer. You raised an eyebrow at the twins, saying, "I thought you two weren't due back in for a while now..." Fred shook his head. "We weren't, we just got..." George finished his sentence quickly. "Held up. By business." He nodded sagely, as did Fred. "Right," said Fred, "and so we decided that, rather wait all the way over in--- OW! BLOODY 'ELL, George, what was THAT about...?" George had stomped his twin's foot hard, casting a look over at Ron and then glaring back at Fred, who scowled and said with a hint of nervousness, "We decided that, while waiting for the business to sort itself out, we'd come back here and hang around for a bit." The two nodded in unison.  
  
You knew they were telling a story, or, at least, not the full truth, but you let it lie for the moment. Ron would probably have it out of them before long. You just sighed again, and said, "Well, I certainly hope you have a pleasant stay, and that your business gets resolved before long." Your heart was utterly not in the remark, and the three Weasleys knew it. They just sat there, staring up at you, every so often exchanging uneasy glances with each other. You got your coffee, and sat in your customary place, gazing with unfocused eyes at the empty chair in front of you. After a moment, you knew that you had to say something, to reassure them that you were okay, so, as casual as possible, you asked them, "Have you two seen Molly yet, since you've been back?"  
  
George scowled. "Well, personally, I'd rather not---" Fred cut into his sentence, "Neither would I, mate," and George continued, "But I suppose it's inevitable, isn't it?" Ron shrugged. "She might be happy to see you..." His two brother snickered at the suggestion. "Somehow," George said, "I'm kind of doubting that." Fred nodded. "Yeah, she might not like where we've--- OW! Good Merlin George, would you quit DOING that, you little twit?!" His twin had smashed his foot again. "Well," George muttered tersely, "if you would quit bloody almost revealing where we've been, maybe I'll consider it." The two shot venomous looks at each other for a moment, then grinned. Fred picked up where he'd left off, as though there'd been no interruption. "Well," he said, turning his attention back to his little brother, "we figure that she might not like it that we've been away for so long on shop business, instead of being here helping the Order, especially at this time, when you lot need more help than you've got." George nodded, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "See now, that was a nice answer. Very vague. Keep it up."  
  
You couldn't help but smile at the two 18-year-olds, in spite of yourself. They reminded you very much of... but you weren't thinking about that, now were you? The trio of brothers continued to talk for awhile, noticing that you were spaced out, but not saying anything to you about it. You were pulled from your thoughts only when George plunked his butterbeer bottle down on the table hard, and Fred said crisply, "Well, I 'spect we ought to go see Gin and Hermione---" "And Mum," George cut in grimly. "---And Mum," Fred continued, "for a bit before we turn in for the night..." The three Weasleys stood and nodded to you before exiting the kitchen. "Good night, Lupin," Ron said quietly as they went out the door.  
  
You weren't sure how long you sat there, staring at the chair, but you must've fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, Tonks was shaking you. "Remus," she was saying, "Wake up, you're dreaming, wake up, it's just a nightmare..." You blearily opened your eyes, muttering an apology, still breathing hard from the re-living of... but you don't want to think about it.  
  
You wandered over to dump your cold coffee into the sink. "What were you dreaming?" she asked kindly. You looked at her for a moment, then merely said, "Nothing, Tonks, nothing at all." That, of course, wasn't true in the slightest, but you weren't about to tell her that. She frowned, as if knowing that you were lying, then said, "Don't think we haven't noticed." You gave her a confused look as she explained her statement. "We know you miss him, Remus, it would only be natural that you would take his death hardest." You scowled; this was unsafe territory for you. She appeared not to notice and kept talking. "But you really should eat something, and get some sleep while you're at it? I mean, wotcher, you're thin as a rail... And those bags under your eyes are deeper than the bowels of the Ministry." You scowled even wider at the mention of the place, but you weren't able to put any feeling behind the expression. She continued her little pep talk. "And quit trying to act happy, mate. If you think that no one can see behind THAT little façade, you're very wrong."  
  
There was nothing that you could do but shrug your shoulders, a weary look invading your face. "Well," she said, a little more forcefully, "are you going to take care of yourself, or are we going to have to bloody well do it for you?" You just shook your head. "I'm trying, Tonks, really I am," you said, a desperate note invading your voice. She sighed. "Trying isn't good enough, Remus. Have you actually even admitted it to yourself yet?" She paused for a moment, then said, "Sirius is dead, and there is nothing you can do about it."  
  
That was it. That was all you needed. Hot tears stung the edges of your eyelids, threatening to fall. You hated it. Turning your back on her, studying the wall above the sink, you whispered angrily, "Don't say that, no one has any idea what's ACTUALLY behind that veil, it could just be an alternate universe or something, he'll be back..." But you weren't even able to convince yourself with the feeble story. Turning back to look at her, you saw a look not of exasperation, which is what you'd expected, but of pity and sorrow on her heart-shaped face. "Sirius is dead," she said again. One tear fell, then another, then another. You stood, rooted to the floor for a long time, silently sobbing. Finally, you managed to get out an answer.  
  
"Don't say that." 


End file.
